A Stranger In My home

I look at myself in the mirror at times, and don’t know who is staring back at me.  I see a stranger.  Someone that looks tired, confused, and lost.  I see a person that I never thought I would be.  I stare at this stranger and hopelessly try to find the missing part that once made me whole.  A part of what defined me is forever gone.  What once was there, is now shrouded in pain.   I know there are psychologists, pastors, counselors that say to us :”You can’t let another person define who you are.” but I don’t  know if they have ever seen life through the eyes of a grieving parent.  I know they read books, they take classes, they go to the most highly acclimated conferences money can buy but unless they have walked in these heavy weighted shoes, they will never understand.  You can’t expect a blind person to know what the color blue is…you can’t expect a deaf person to know what the  echo sound of a bell is.  No one can tell me that I will get over this pain when their present pain doesn’t compare to my everlasting one.

It is impossible for parents not define who they are and what they have become without their children being the center of it all.  I lost my personal identity when I had my children.  They consumed my every thought, my entire soul, my every breath.  I loved it.  I loved that I was able to form this miracle inside of me and watch him/her grow into their own identity.  I delight in watching them become the person they are.  As they married and had their own children, I felt my own love for them grow stronger.   I look forward to the day when they realize that their own children have taken over every micro cell that lives inside of them, but I am angry  that I was ignorant enough to assume these events were guaranteed.  I am even angrier that my son will never experience and relish in the joys of these adventures.  Those are the days I become an intruder in my own world.

There is some relief.  I am starting to have days that are easier to maneuver through. I go about them with a smile and a laugh but along with those,  there are also days that seem so dark and and dreary I can’t see past my own hand.  Those seemingly innocent days become torture when the cold hard reality hits me… I will NEVER see my child again!  I despise those days!  I despise the  times when I drive by a certain area, hear a certain song,  or see a person with features that resemble my handsome son.    Those events take me to a dark place that I don’t care to be in.  Where once I was able to go about my day with virtually no sadness, they drag me down into a place of despair.  Those are the days that when I glance at myself, I see a facade of a person.  A spiritless, dejected human being who no longer recognizes herself.  I yearn to have myself back…I yearn to have my life back …I yearn to have him back…


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and then there were 2. I am the mom to 3 beautiful adult children..2 are still physically with me....One is with us in spirit. Even though they are adults, they will always my babies. I hope you follow me on my journey. Though we are all different, we are all the same

One thought on “A Stranger In My home”

  1. You speak of the pain that bereaved parents know so well. I too lost a son at the age of 38. I think of myself as the person I was before and the person I am now since the tragic day of Nov. 16, 2009 when I got the call. Rest easy to all the children who left too soon!

    Liked by 1 person

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